


Safely On the Shore (We Sank Like Stones)

by meditationsinemergencies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Oral Sex, Post-War, Terminal Illness, Unhappy Ending, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24439762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/pseuds/meditationsinemergencies
Summary: In an act that may have changed the outcome of the war, Sybill Trelawney drains herself of all magic. In one last hope of desperation to live, she finds herself on the doorstep of an unexpected healer.
Relationships: Severus Snape/Sybill Trelawney
Comments: 19
Kudos: 16
Collections: HP UnHappily Ever After Fest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful [adavison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adavison/profile) for being such an amazing beta for not just this work, but for all my things.
> 
> This work was written for the HP UnHappily Ever After Fest 2020; with that being said, this work is not a happy one. Trigger warnings include terminal illness and death. As always, thank you for reading; I appreciate it so much.
> 
> The title of this work comes from the song "Julia (Or, 'Holy to the Lord' on the Bells of Horses)" by Mewithoutyou.
> 
> I've also compiled a playlist of all the songs quoted in this work. The link is here, and the songs are in order of appearance. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6ScDzZ7yDFz61QQKOkKnoM?si=1rK_OCBVSieFTQMfzqx4bQ

**_“If I could cheat, I would skip to the end, and decide if it's worth going through with, skip to the last paragraph, just before we start, to see the happy ending, or the broken heart. Happy ending, or the broken heart.” - The Futureheads, “Skip to the End”_ **

**\---**

_ “I've been out walking. I don't do too much talking these days. These days. These days I seem to think a lot about the things that I forgot to do, and all the times I had the chance to.” - Nico, “These Days”  _

It wasn’t as if she had given up; she hadn’t. She had merely grown too tired to do much more. To put it simply, without the bells and whistles, without the pages of write-ups from the healers, without the medical jargon to accompany it— she was dying. 

There were certain things she refused to partake in; she wasn’t going to pump her body full of potions laced with chemicals and unnatural concoctions any longer. Frustratingly so to many, she was going to stick to her convictions. Before she fell ill, Sybill did not consume animal products; she did not consume things that were not natural; she did not take potions when she had a headache or when she felt nauseous. She tried her best to, at all times, treat her body sacredly, and except for a stint of consuming far too much alcohol, she had excelled at this. Sybill had let herself be poked and prodded by healers at St Mungo’s for long enough. No one could figure out how to revive her magic and in turn revive her health. 

Sybill felt worse now than she had before the process began, so she decided to do what she’d always done— _ listen to her body, _ and her body was pleading her to rest, to breathe easily, to go home. 

After months spent in St Mungo's, she awoke one morning and walked out. Simple. Easy. Getting home was going to be more of an effort, as she couldn't apparate, she had to take the underground back. It was a four hour ride back to the coast, but, she didn't mind, in the end; she was glad to be on her way. 

With a small bag sitting on her lap, she sat and allowed her mind to empty. It was warm on the train and she pulled her hair, blonde and thick and heavy, up onto her head. She could feel sweat forming on the back of her neck; she knew that if she saw herself she would appear flustered and hot. 

She shook her wrist, used to shaking out her bangles and bracelets, but then remembered that all her jewellery had been removed. It had been sent back home. She arrived at St Mungo’s wearing her usual bangles and rings and necklaces and scarves and earrings, but they’d stripped her of all her jewellery, all her accessories. They’d stripped her of her identity. She was so very glad to be sitting on this train--glad to be going home. 

In an effort to assist Dumbledore at the end of the war, to try and save as much magical blood as possible, to ensure that everything was cosmically aligned, she exhausted her magic—zapped it dry. It was like a snapping of fingers. One minute she was harnessing the energy and aligning things just so and, then, right as she got things to where she wanted them, her magic was gone. Drained. Depleted. Emptied.

Magical blood, magical bones, magical bodies relied on magic to survive. Without the magic, without even the slightest bit of magic, a witch or wizard’s body failed to function properly. Sybill’s body grew tired very quickly; she was more often than not running a low-grade fever; her blood pressure was too high and then too low. She felt like she was constantly on a roller-coaster. There were days where she was ravenous and felt as if she couldn’t get enough to eat, whereas other days she could barely stand the sight of food. Other than being physically tired, she was mentally exhausted from just not knowing what to expect day-to-day. 

  
Her time at St Mungo’s had been a disaster. No one knew how to restore her magic. Usually, with magical depletions, the witch’s magic wasn’t completely gone, there were still remnants of it, enough to work with and build upon. Sybill’s magic, however, was one-hundred and ten per cent gone. Kaput. No magic left in her. 

They put her through a series of tests and infusions and transfusions and nothing helped. No magic came back. It was almost as if all the tests they had her do was to trick her magic into coming back. She cast charm after charm after charm. She tried to transfigure this and that. She tried to brew. Nothing worked. Finally, she packed up her bag of personal items. No one could stop her from leaving, and so she had left. 

Her body lolled with the movement of each stop and start of the train. She stared at the window in front of her and watched as everything moved past her rapidly. She felt so alone. Most of her adult life was spent romantically alone, and she was fine with that, but now she had no one. No colleagues. No students. She was, however, certain that she’d rather be alone than with the healers at St Mungo’s. Her eyes welled and she felt one hot tear fall down her cheek, with the back of her hand she quickly wiped it away. At least, she thought, at least she had helped in ending the war—in saving some innocent lives and in giving some second chances to others. 

As they came to her stop, she took a deep breath and stood up. She was absolutely drenched with sweat. Perhaps her fever had just hit its peak and had broken. Wiping the back of her neck, she felt her sweat-soaked hair, and got off of the train.

The moment she stepped outside, she could smell the seaside; she could feel her hair frizzing in the air, her skin growing sticky from the salt. She felt an immense relief, and she began to cry. Not from sadness, but from relief. This  _ was  _ what she had needed all along. If she was going to die, she wanted to do it here, not in some blasted hospital with all those healers messing with her.

The home Sybill owned was Muggle. When she bought it many years ago, she didn’t mind that it was. She tended to not use the Muggle amenities, but, over time, she had familiarized herself with them just enough. She was, now, very grateful for this, as her magic depletion left her with very little she could do, some of her divination abilities remained, but charm work, transfiguration, potioneering, none of it seemed to be successful. 

Her home was small, but she had a quaint back porch and enough garden space for flowers and herbs and vegetables. There were many things she could do with herbs and the earth that didn’t necessarily require her magic. 

Inside, she had painted the rooms odd colours, there was an array of artwork on all the walls along with shelves that were filled with books and candles and incense and teacups and tarot cards and crystals and crystal balls and gemstones and the like. While her house had a lot of stuff inside of it, it was all neat and organized, and it appeared to be less cluttered than it actually was. Sybill noted a pile of letters on her kitchen table. Her neighbour, also a witch, was collecting from whatever owl was bringing letters and parcels that day. On the top, in handwriting she knew, was a letter. It was from her former colleague Pomona Sprout. Out of all the faculty, she and Pomona got along the most; it was their interest in herbology that moved their relationship from colleague to a friend. Sybill opened the letter and read the note inside: 

_ Sybill,  _

_ I do believe you are returning home today, as it seems St Mungo’s and the traditional healers have been unable to find the source of your magic’s depletion and your illness. I do believe I know someone who can help you. Before you put the letter down, I must have you know that this person is a non-traditional healer and potioneer. The address to his shop is below. Yes, it’s a shop, Sybill, not an office. He runs an apothecary in London. Don't unfairly judge it or him. Trust me. Be in touch soon.  _

_ Best, Pomona _

Sybill set the note down onto the rest of the mail and sat in the chair. Pomona would never lead her astray. She knew she would go see this non-traditional healer before she was willing to actually admit that she was, but she needed time and rest before she did anything else.

A few days turned into weeks. Sybill hadn’t forgotten about Pomona’s note but was physically unable to make herself respond to the letter. Her days moved in and out like a blur.

On a warm Wednesday evening, there was a soft rap at her door. Sybill found Pomona standing there with a plate of biscuits in one hand and a bottle of rosé in another. 

“Sybill, my love. You never wrote me back.”

She smiled weakly, “I’m a dreadful friend. I’m so sorry. Please, come in.”

Pomona chuckled softly, “You’re ill. You’re allowed to not write back, but I needed to come to see you. You need to go see this healer.”

“Who is it?” she sunk back into her seat where she was before Pomona arrived.

“That doesn’t matter. You just need to go. Where are your glasses?” Pomona gestured in the kitchen, asking which cupboard they were in. Sybill pointed to the upper cabinet. Her friend popped open the wine and poured them each a heavy-handed glass. She sat next to Sybill on the couch, handed her the glass of rose and set the lavender-almond macarons between them for their indulgence.

The women settled into a comfortable conversation of wine and sweets. Several hours later Pomona had convinced Sybill to go see the healer. Pomona wrote to the healer and told him to accept Sybill in two days time. 

As she went to leave, she wrapped Sybill in a warm, tight hug. “I’ll know if you don’t go. You know better than to let a Hufflepuff down, love. Go. Please.” 

She nodded and whispered into her friend's embrace, “I will. I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ "Cause he gets up in the morning, and he goes to work at nine, and he comes back home at five-thirty, gets the same train every time. Cause his world is built round punctuality, it never fails." - The Kinks, "A Well Respected Man"  _

Severus Snape never intended to live out the war. But, by some twist of fate, Nagini’s bite did not immediately kill him. After giving Potter his memories, he laid on the floor of the shack for quite sometime before Hermione Granger came back for him. He at least thinks it was Hermione; it had sounded like her. Whomever it was, Hermione or not, sent for help. At some point, Severus passed out, when he awoke he was in St Mungo's, his throat and neck on fire, and every inch of his body was sore. He discovered he’d been unconscious for months--a new healer, one who specialized in unconventional care, was his healer. 

Every other healer in St Mungo's had given up. They’d written him off as a lost cause. It wasn’t the wound or the blood loss that stumped everyone, it was the venom from the snake. It seemed to have infused itself throughout his entire body, slithering through his blood with voracity. 

This new healer, however, with a mixture of herbal remedies and, to Snape’s horror, crystal magic, had stopped the flow of the venom. It had not removed the venom, though; no, there was no way to do that. Even with multiple blood replenishing potions, the venom still appeared in his bloodstream, but this remedy, this odd concocted mixture of things had somehow paralyzed it, in a way. 

Occasionally, he would still have jolts of immense pain in various parts of his body, as if the venom was raging against the remedy; it was still ever-present, but it wasn’t taking him over.

Once released from St Mungo's he spent a large amount of time with this particular healer—once he learned all he needed to know about his own remedies and how to sustain them as a treatment, he then wanted to know more. He felt that this, combined with his skills as a potioneer, were creating a very valuable niche for him. 

He quickly, alongside his healer, opened an apothecary. 

For the first time in a very long time, Severus felt content. He was owned by no one. He wasn’t living a double-life. He wasn’t pretending at anything. He simply existed as an agent in his own life, and it felt  _ very _ good. Potter, being the golden boy that he was, quickly had Severus’ name cleared, and while people were not lining up to hug him and thank him, and no one was sending him flowers and chocolate, people did respect him and treated him with graciousness and simple kindness. He was grateful for this. He didn’t want to be made into some hero who had statues and babies named after him, but he enjoyed the respect he had; he enjoyed that people didn’t loathe him or fear him—he’d had quite enough of that. 

There was a rise of interest in non-traditional healing, and the shop Severus had opened was doing quite well. He spent most of his time in the shop brewing, researching, fiddling, so to speak. He was an intelligent man, and he had so much time now. He found he could spend hours just doing whatever he wanted. Some days, he was still amazed at this. He couldn’t believe that some people had had this luxury for their whole lives. 

He should have known, however, that his peaceful existence would come to an end eventually. Pomona Sprout tottered into his office with sweets and a task for him. He never disliked Pomona, but he wasn’t keen on the idea of taking on some sort of task. 

He was sitting at his workbench, shoving a bit of biscuit into his mouth when she let it spill. 

“I’m here for Sybill,” she said. 

“Trelawney? What batty thing has she gotten herself into now?" He asked, his mouth still full of biscuit.

“Do finish chewing first, Severus.” 

He glared at her and finished his biscuit. He had finally begun to enjoy eating again, and Pomona was happy to see that his once thin frame was beginning to fill out and his once sallow skin was now a creamy ivory; he looked much healthier than he had in a very long time. He took a sip of his drink and cleared his throat, secretly wishing that they didn’t have to chat and that he could just eat the whole tin of biscuits she’d brought.

“So, Trelawney?” he inquired. 

“Yes. She’s dying.” 

Severus felt his eyebrows raise. Pomona wasn’t usually very forthright, but she’d just come out and said this, and, frankly, Severus was a bit surprised to hear it. He hadn’t known what happened to her after the war; he assumed she was running about the forest whispering to trees or something nonsensical like that. “Dying? From what?” 

His former colleague looked down at her feet and back up at him, “She depleted her magic. Doing something or other for Dumbledore, for the war. It’s completely gone. She spent a very long time at St Mungo’s. Now, however, she’s just, well, she’s just given up. She left St Mungo’s and went home. She’s just accepted her fate.” 

Severus nodded and thought about Pomona’s word, “something or other for Dumbledore” over in his mind a few times. 

“Severus. You’re one of the smartest wizards I know. You’re intuitive and clever and skilled. I think... I think you might be the only person who can cure her.”

“How in the bloody hell do you think I’ll manage that?”

Pomona let out a deep sigh, “I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot. Sybill, well, she hasn’t had the happiest of lives, you know? She was,  _ is _ , a much more powerful witch than anyone gave her credit for. She’s spent so many years of her life alone and ostracized. I don’t want her to give up just yet. She probably won’t even come here to—”

Severus interjected, “She definitely won’t come if she knows it’s me.”

“Why not?”

“She just won’t.” Severus wasn’t about to admit that he had an inkling as to what had caused her magic to run out, and he certainly wasn’t about to admit that he may have been able to prevent it from happening. 

“I won’t tell her it’s you.”

He nodded. “Just get her here. I’ll see what I can do.”

That evening, after he’d finished the biscuits Pomona bought him, Severus turned the things she told him in his head over and over again. His thoughts moved back to one particular night in Dumbledore’s office.

Dumbledore had called for him as he so often did. Severus entered the office to find Sybill sitting there. Quickly, he learned that Albus believed that, in order to defeat Voldemort, more forces needed to be at work than just Horcrux hunting and spying and casting curses.

With Sybill to back him up, Dumbledore believed that it was critical to harness the Earth’s energies, to tap into the unseen magic of the universe. If he was being honest, Severus hadn’t really been listening to the intricacies of it all: He didn’t believe in any of it. 

To Severus, the key to defeating Voldemort was doing exactly what they were doing. They were fighting with their minds and with their bodies and that was all they could do. There was no mystical element—no hidden secret in the ether to affect anything. 

At some point, Dumbledore asked him to perform a series of rituals with Sybill. 

Severus had laughed at the man. He had actually doubled-over and laughed. "Do you think I have the time? Do you think I have the energy? Between being your spy. Between everything I have to do for  _ him _ . Between teaching. Between watching over Draco. Between every fucking thing you ask me to do, now this?"

Sybill had watched calmly without an ounce of emotion showing. Severus had tried not to look at her; he tried not to pay her any mind She sat poised and calm, simply observing. And at that moment, he thought he hated her. He'd truly hated Dumbledore, but Sybill was a much better target for the emotion: He hated that he'd overheard her, young and ignorant, giving Dumbledore the prophecy. He hated that she worked at the school—she reminded him constantly of his indiscretions as a younger man. He hated that he had to pretend that she was a fraud: He let their colleagues mock her. He hated that he loved that she was seen as inferior as a teacher. He hated, most of all, that he had an odd soft spot for her. He didn't know what it was, but when he couldn't sleep, he often found himself thinking of her. Her large blue eyes, her glasses, her absurd outfits, her  _ charm.  _

Right then, at that moment, what he hated the most was that she was there, along with Dumbledore, asking something else of him. He didn't know if what Dumbledore was suggesting would work; he didn't know much about the magic embedded in the ether, the magic that connected and held the invisible strings of the universe together, but he did know that he wasn't going to partake in it. He was simply too tired for it. 

He pointed at her and then he pointed at Dumbledore. "You and you are off your rockers." His finger towards Sybill, he continued: "You've been off it! You think you're doing some good with your prophecies and your tea leaves and your bullshit voodoo magic!" Then he turned to the old wizard: "And you! That curse in your arm is going to your fucking brain! You are mad. Lost it. I will not partake in any of this nonsense. I don't care!"

He dropped his arms, as if in defeat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and take care of my students and then grade and then lesson plan and then maybe I'll get summoned and then maybe I'll be cursed for hours and then maybe  _ just _ maybe I'll get some goddamn sleep, all while you two loons shove crystals in the ground and throw salt around and fuck the Earth or whatever it is you plan on doing." He turned on his heel and left without glancing back at either of them. 

Once more, when it was just him and Dumbledore, Dumbledore asked him again to help Sybill with what she was doing. He'd told him it was dangerous for her to do on her own, but, honestly, back then, he hadn't had the energy to care about her safety. 

Now, as he sat on his couch, wiping crumbs of biscuits off of his shirt and out of the scruff of his beard, he found he had the energy to care and he also had guilt to accompany it.


	3. Chapter 3

_ “I should live in salt for leaving you behind” - The National, “I Should Live In Salt” _

_ “Leave the sun behind me and watch the clouds as they sadly pass me by. I'm in perpetual motion and the world below doesn't matter much to me. This time tomorrow, where will we be?” - The Kinks, “This Time Tomorrow”  _

It had been weeks since Severus was visited by Pomona, and, at that point, he assumed that Sybill wasn't coming. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed, but neither really mattered in the end when he received an owl saying that he should expect Sybill in two days. 

He began to feel uncharacteristically nervous. Mainly, it was due to the fact that he knew Sybill didn't expect it to be him. He felt perhaps he was ambushing her a little, but, whatever, it had been Pomona's idea anyhow. 

He'd spent some time researching magic depletion. He found that the biggest issue he was going to face was the fact that Sybill had completely drained her magic, not an ounce of magic remained. Usually, in restoration of magic in a witch or wizard, there were at least some traces of magic to work. This, he knew, was going to make his research tricky and her treatment trickier.

He had no idea how to proceed other than trial and error, as long as she was up for that. 

***

Sybill came in mid-afternoon. She took the train back to London, and while she missed the ease of apparition, she also found that she enjoyed the ride. When she arrived at the designated shop, she was a bit shocked by the simplicity of the exterior and the windows. It didn't  _ look _ like the place if someone who was a non-traditional healer—she typically associated eccentricities with those who practised, but this wasn't in any way eccentric or eclectic, it was common and clean and crisp. 

She opened the door and saw that the place was well-stocked and whoever ran it knew what they were doing, but it was all so well organized that it was almost off-putting. She stood at the counter and realized she had no way to indicate her arrival as the sign said to use one's wand to signal help. She inwardly sighed and felt, suddenly, very out of place due to her lack of magic. 

She cleared her throat and called, "Hello?? I believe I have an appointment. I can’t signal with my wand, as I've no magic anymore. So, I'm not sure—"

Severus heard her voice, low and familiar, from the front room and he stood up from his workbench the moment the first syllable left her lips, making his way to the entrance of the shop. 

She stopped speaking when she saw him standing there. 

"Ohh...I must have the wrong shop. I'm sorry, Severus. I'll be going."

She went to pull away from the counter, as he stepped towards it. "No," his voice was deeper than she remembered, raspier. "You're in the right place. This is my shop." 

Her brow furrowed in confusion, "You don't believe in non-traditional healing or non-traditional magic or anything of the like if I do recall." 

He knew she recalled. He knew that she was replaying that evening in Dumbledore's office in her mind.

He cleared his throat. She let her eyes move to his neck and she saw, beneath the collar of a white Oxford, deep purpled scars. They looked as if they still hurt. "I do. I do now. This sort of magic. This sort of brewing and natural experimentation is why I am alive. So, yes, I adhere to it...now.

She felt anger welling up inside her. "Oh! Do you now?  _ Now _ you do? Isn't that convenient." 

"Sybill, listen…"

"No! You told me I was insane! You told me all my efforts were worthless. Well, they weren't."

Severus hadn't wanted to argue with her, but it seemed unavoidable. "Come on now. We don't know if what you did affected anything. It could have. It could have not. Perhaps it was a combination of — "

"It did. It's why  _ you're _ standing where you are. It's why a lot of people are alive. Let's see…” She began ticking off with her fingers. “Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Fred Weasley, Draco Malfoy. Would you like me to continue? The direct cause of You-Know-Who's demise was your efforts and Harry Potter's and the destruction of the Horcruxes, but it was  _ my  _ job to save as many people as I could, and I did. So, you're bloody well welcome, Severus Snape."

She didn’t normally admit, in any way, to being, well, a bit bitter, but perhaps, she was. Her breath had quickened and she felt suddenly very tired.

“You’re not the only person who sacrificed things in the war…”

She let out a short laugh, “Oh? You think I’m not aware of that, Severus? What did you give up? You are alive. You have a nice shop. You have your magic. You have a raspier voice now, big whoop. I’m  _ still _ ostracized. I’m  _ still _ alone. And now? Now I’m dying because of it. I can’t do the simplest magic, so don’t tell me that we all sacrificed things. I know that we all did, but that doesn’t make what I sacrificed any less hard on me!”

“I’m—” 

She wasn’t done, she was on a roll now. Everything she’d held in for months and months was coming to the surface.

She leaned against the countertop, her hair fell around her shoulders, her glasses slid down her nose just a smidge. Looking at her closer now he could tell that she was ill. He saw beads of sweat on her temple, her cheeks and neck were flustered, her chest was spotted with red blotches. He could tell that her heart rate was abnormally high and her breath was quick and staccato. 

“Not to mention. Let’s not forget. You, dear Severus,  _ you _ could have helped!”

This was where he was torn on the matter: Yes, he could have assisted. But, also, could he have? He was a much more jaded man then; he was cynical and cruel. He was pessimistic. Would the magic have even worked if he was involved? He supposed it didn’t matter, what mattered was that he had denied her; he’d left her to do it all on her own. Left her to deal with whatever antics Dumbeldore had come up with. He should have never left her alone. She had already been so alone.

"I wouldn't have been useful back then."

"You don't know that. Don't make excuses! It's unbecoming."

Severus laid both his hands on the counter and sighed. He drummed his fingers against the cool wood. He leaned into her now, and they were closer than they'd ever been in their whole lives. He lowered his voice, "What is it you want me to say, Sybill?"

She looked up at him, staring into his eyes. She saw such sadness and remorse, and, while he physically looked much healthier and stronger than she'd ever seen him, his eyes still told her more than enough. A few moments of sincere eye contact told her all she needed to know about someone—Sybill knew he was still despondent, that he was still lonely. She wanted him to admit that he was the reason she was dying, but she knew that was unfair on all accounts. 

She let out a long slow breath, letting her eyes close, trying to calm her body down. Severus eyed her wearily; he was concerned she was about to pass out. Opening her eyes, she once again met his eyes. She said, in complete sincerity, "I don't want you to say anything, Severus. I'm just very tired emotionally and, at the moment, physically. Travelling takes a lot out of me. Do you have an office or someplace I can sit down?"

He nodded. "Follow me." He turned and began to walk. She trailed after, letting her hands graze against the countertops, the shelves, the walls, whatever it was she could steady herself on. She was tired and ready to get this over with.

He held open a door for her and she stepped into a small quaint office. With a flick of his wand, he transfigured a chair into a plush chaise lounge. He gestured towards it. "It'll be better for you to lie down anyway. I need to get your vitals." 

She sat down and furrowed her brow, "I never agreed to anything." 

"Sybill, I don't want to fight you on this. I'm done fighting. If you don't want my help, that's fine. I'll respect it, but I will be forthright and tell you that I think it's a foolish choice to not explore all of your options."

"What's the point, anyway? I'm alone. I've no magic. I might not ever get my magic back. I feel so unbelievably worthless."

He sat down and eyed her from across his desk. She was now laying back against the chase. She'd shut her eyes, the back of her hand resting on her forehead. 

"The point is, for us especially, the war is over. It's over, Sybill. Between the two of us, we've almost never not known war. We haven't lived without working for someone else, like Dumbledore. We can live our lives like we want to." 

"You can. I can't. I'm dying, remember?" She opened her eyes as she said this last part and looked at him with a shrug before shutting her eyes again. 

"Let me help. Yes. You might still die. I can try. I'd like to try. I owe it to you."

She shook her head and looked over at him, "Shut up. I know I was angry, but this isn't your fault. It is no one's fault. This is just a byproduct of war." 

He shrugged, "It doesn't matter. I owe it to you, and I want to. It'll give me something to work on."

She nodded, "Okay. Where do we begin?" 

He picked up a quill, "I'll need to run a number of tests. You'll need to come here every day."

She shook her head, "I can't do that. I live in Wembury. I spent four hours on Muggle transport this morning to get here. I'm staying the night in London, as I can only handle so much travel in one day, but I want to do this at home. I'm sorry, but that's why I left St Mungos to begin with. I want to be able to be at home."

"I can't just be at your home with you. I have a life here." Severus snapped.

"I don't expect you to do anything, you arse. I was just telling you. I cannot travel daily. I cannot apparate here. I cannot  _ not _ live at home. You can just Owl me the treatments. I can visit every other week, alright?" 

"Very well. Can you, at least, stay in London tomorrow? That'll give me plenty of time to get everything set up and send you with the appropriate treatments."

She sat up, "Sure. I can do that." 

He nodded, "Let's get started then." 

He stood up from his desk and walked over to her sitting on the end of the chase. He gently grabbed her wrist and measured her pulse. "Merlin, your heart rate is high." 

She shrugged. She didn't know what to say to that. 

***

They spent the next two weeks together. Somehow two days turned into one more day and one more day. He ran tests. He asked her to attempt magic. It was all very reminiscent as to what happened at St Mungo’s, and she was feeling rather annoyed about the whole thing. She just wanted to be back home, as she told him that morning. She was going home, and he couldn't stop her. 

"Sybill…" He began, "I think I need to be with you daily. Your health is much worse than I initially thought. We need to start rigorous treatments immediately. Do you…this is going to seem ridiculous, but do you have a spare bedroom?"

Her eyebrows raised, "Are you suggesting you come live with me?"

"I see no other way to treat you properly. I want you to be comfortable and at home, and I want to continue this."

She shifted on the chase and sighed, "It's a small cottage. I have a spare room, but it's small. It's doable though, I think. We'd be in very close quarters at all times. It's just me, so, again, it's very small."

"I require very little. I just need a workspace."

Sybill nodded, "That's fine. My train leaves at 4."

"I'll see you there."

Hours later, Severus stood on the platform waiting for her. He saw her as she approached. Her hair was pulled up, her glasses slipping down her nose. She looked tired and flustered. As she stood next to him, she adjusted her glasses. "Severus, do me a favour, will you?"

He gave her a terse nod. "Charm these bastards so they're right again. They keep sliding down my face and they're driving me mad." 

A small smile played at his lips, but he suppressed it. He muttered something and she felt her glasses fitting properly on her face. "You know I can give you a potion to fix your vision?" 

"Why are you just now mentioning that?"

"I didn't think you'd be interested."

"What? Have you ever worn glasses? Of course, I'm interested. Glasses are a pain in the arse." 

She sighed and glanced around the platform. He eyed her, noticing, not for the first time, how pretty she was. He berated himself for the thought, and looked ahead, waiting on the train.

As they boarded and waited, he was unsure of what they'd do for the next four hours. They couldn't talk about her treatments as they were around Muggles. 

They sat next to one another, their legs close but not touching. At some point, she took out a book and began to read. Her foot hit his leg on accident as she readjusted her body, and his heart rate picked up as she did so. He wasn't sure what was happening with him, but he wasn't exactly fond of it. He was too old to be developing any sort of silly crush and on one of his patients no less. 

At some point, Severus dozed off. He woke to Sybill’s hand on his forearm shaking him tenderly, "We're at our stop." 

They walked silently away from the platform and hopped on a trolley to the quieter side of the village. Then walked a short distance to her cottage. "Here we are."

Severus smirked at how very Sybill the place was. He felt his heart leap with some small joy and an odd sense of relief—as if he were coming home, which, he knew, was completely bizarre.


	4. Chapter 4

_ "I once had a girl or should I say she once had me. She showed me her room. Isn't it good Norwegian wood? She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere, so I looked around and I noticed there wasn't a chair."  _ \-  _ The Beatles, "Norwegian Wood" _

For a solid month, the pair coexisted in her home. Severus took her spare bedroom and turned it into a workspace. Most of his things were in there, even if they were work-related, but due to limited space, he took to sleeping on the couch in her living room, which he had to admit was quite comfortable. 

They moved around one another with quiet ease. They had some conversations, spoke here and there, but it was mostly about her treatment, about how she felt, and so on. 

  
One evening, he heard a knock. The door to his room was open, but she stood at the threshold, her fist against the frame of the door.

"I need your help." 

He got up from his workbench and walked towards her. Raising his eyebrows at her, he wordlessly asked what it was she needed. This was how many of their exchanges went. She was okay with this. They weren’t friends. They weren’t colleagues either. They were essentially doctor and patient, and their relationship with one another was simple, but as time progressed, and as she got more sick, the more dependent she found she was becoming on him for simple things. She hated asking for his help, but, as he was here, she was going to take advantage of it.

She cleared her throat. "I want to do a grounding bath. But, I don't want the crystals to get wet. As you know, it's negative energy to set them out and then step over them, also due to the nature of the clawfoot tub, I'm worried I'd knock them in. I need magic to suspend them so they don't fall into the water. So, in short, I need to be in the tub and then I need you to place and suspend the crystals. Will you do that for me? I'm so tired, and I need to do this. Please, Se—"

He cut her off. "Yes. Of course. I'm here to find a remedy. While I do that, I'm here to help you however necessary." As he responded, he tried to not think about her being naked in the water. He berated himself for entertaining the thought, as she was sick, she was dying; she needed him to help her, not ogle her in the water, or think about ogling her. 

She nodded, "Thank you. I'll call for you once I'm ready."

He stood in the hallway and waited. He listened to her run the bath. He listened to her footsteps padding against the tiled floor. He listened as he heard her step into the water. Finally, he heard her call to him. 

She'd turned off the lights in the bathroom and had lit what he considered to be an absurd amount of candles. He knelt next to the tub and eyed the pile of crystals. She had her knees pulled up to her chest, and her hair was piled up on top of her head. She rested her chin on her knees and watched him silently. 

He levitated and placed each crystal accordingly. She appreciated that she didn't have to tell him where each one was supposed to go. When he was done, he felt his heart do an unfamiliar leap when their eyes met. Her eyes, a light blue, met his dark ones with appreciation and gratitude. He felt guilty at this. He'd caused her to be as sick as she was, he was supposed to be helping her, and here he was feeling juvenile feelings. His heart felt a bit sad as he looked her over; they worked together for so many years, and, Merlin, yes, as a man he recognized long ago that she was pretty and that she had a lovely voluptuous body, but he had let so much unnecessary bitterness taint how he felt about her. 

She was so nice to him, so accommodating, so thoughtful. As he considered the years he’d known her, he’d never known her not to be those things. She never once said an ill word to him, she was never rude to him, and she was never unfair to his students just because of their house. She was, through and through, a fair and compassionate woman. He momentarily wondered what could have happened, what could have changed had he been a kinder man before the end of the war. 

Submerged in water, surrounded by herbs and flowers and salts and crystals, she looked heavenly and dainty. He wanted to reach his hand out and touch her arm or shoulder to make sure she was real, but she spoke and broke his train of thought.

"Severus?"

"Hmm?" he glanced over his shoulder but didn't look completely at her. 

"Will you leave the door open? In case I need you?"

He nodded.

“Will you come and move everything when I’m ready to get out?” 

Again, he nodded and left the bathroom.

She sank back into the tub, submerging most of her body in the hot water. In the living room, she heard him cut on the record player—loud enough for her to hear it, too. She mulled over the expression on his face as he set up the crystals. He seemed to be thinking hard about something, and she wished, then, that they were friends. Perhaps, she thought, they were. Perhaps, he wouldn’t be against her finding him before bed, in the living room, and talking. She thought, soon enough, she’d give it a try.

Later that evening, Sybill called for him. He’d been waiting anxiously to hear her voice, and he could tell by the pitch of it that she was tired, more so than usual. He stepped in and removed all the contents from around the tub. He knelt down next to her, “Let me help you out.” 

She shook her head “no”. It wasn’t as if she was worried about him seeing her nude, it was her pride. She should be able to get out of the tub without his help. 

He was himself, tired, and a bit frustrated. “Why not? You are tired. You could hurt yourself.”

She thought about earlier, and how she’d wished he’d open up to her more. “How do you know I’m tired?” 

“Are you not?”

She sighed heavily.“Yes. Exhausted. But how do  _ you _ know?”

He matched her sigh. “A combination of things. The bath, in itself, with the energy it harnesses, is already draining. It’s late. Also…” He took a deep breath again. “Your voice gives it away. Your voice is a touch lower when you’re especially weary.” He feared he’d revealed a bit too much of his observations of her, but, hell, he was supposed to be treating her, he needed to be observant. That would be his defence if she said anything to him. But, she didn’t say anything at all about it. 

“Okay.” She held out her hand. Severus summoned a towel. The moment he held her hand, the moment he helped her stand-up, he handed over the towel to her, as to prevent her from being exposed for too long. Severus concentrated on the beads of sweat at her temple and the curls that had formed from the heat of the water, he noticed a small scar on her temple and one by her eyebrow.

  
Curiosity got the better of him, “What are those scars from on your temple and by your brow?”

Sybill, wrapping the towel around her body, reached up with her fingers and touched the scars. “Dragon pox when I was six. I had a horrid case. I have a few other scars from them. Two on my left breast. They actually look a bit like very faded bite marks.” She pulled a bit of the towel down, where the tops of her breasts were showing. She pointed to the scars, “Right there. It does look like a bite, doesn’t it?” 

Severus nodded in agreeance and didn’t let his eyes linger on the tops of her breasts. Suddenly he realized that while she sounded tired, she seemed to have a bit more energy than he expected. She was very talkative. “How do you feel right now?”

She shrugged and reached out, grasping on his shoulders as she stepped out of the tub and onto the floor beside him. “I’m...I’m very tired, but I feel decent. I don’t feel so poorly. I don’t know how to explain it. Honestly, I think it was the crystals. I think just being that close to magic, even your magic helped. Thank you for your help. I’m going to go to bed now. See you in the morning.” She smiled a small gentle smile and left him in the bathroom with his thoughts.

***

The next morning, Severus found Sybill in her kitchen. She had been baking what smelled like cinnamon bread. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent. 

She’d learned that he had a bit of a sweet tooth and found that baking calmed her, so the copious amount of baking she’d been doing was beneficial to them both. 

He sat down at the table. His hair flopped in his face and kept pushing it back out of his eyes. The humidity of the sea and the salt made his hair uncooperative. He liked to keep it long, but this was just getting on his nerves. Sybill watched as he pushed it away from his face again. Finally, as she set down her tea she said, “Let me cut it.” 

“What? You don’t have any magic. You can’t give me a proper haircut.”

“How do you think Muggles cut their hair, Severus?”

He shrugged. 

“Let me cut it. It’ll grow back if you hate it, and by the time I die and you go back to London, it’ll be normal again.”

He rolled her eyes at the comment about her dying. She did this a lot. She’d squeeze in a joke or whatever about her death. He hated it. 

“Please.”

He glared at her. “Fine. You can cut it.” 

She moved one of her kitchen chairs to the middle of the room and she left to grab a pair of scissors. “First…” she began, “Go wash your hair. Don’t use your wand to scourgify. Use my shampoo and wash it!” 

He stood up with a sigh, already regretting this. Minutes later he came back into the kitchen with wet hair and sat in the chair. She began snipping and trimming, as she did he heard her humming. As she hummed, he couldn’t quite figure out what the songs were. By the end of it, she was standing between his knees trimming up the front. He could tell it was a lot shorter, but it also  _ felt  _ a lot better. It was cooler. It wasn't so heavy. Finally, he had to ask, "What is it that you're humming?"

As she snipped she replied, "The Beatles." 

"Mmm." 

She pulled away from him a bit, "What, do you not like The Beatles? Everyone likes The Beatles."

"They're fine. I prefer The Stones."

She baulked, "What?"

He shrugged. 

Again, she pressed, "Why?"

"I just enjoy them more. Why do you like The Beatles more? Don't you, I don't know, find them a bit silly at times—an octopus's garden, the yellow submarine, being for the benefit of Mr Kite there will be a show tonight on trampoline. It all feels a bit absurd." 

She chuckled a little, "I should expect nothing less from you. They're imaginative, other-worldly, wildly talented!"

"But silly." He quipped, and a small, almost unnoticeable smile danced on his lips. She noticed, however, and egged him on. "To you! They write beautiful songs! Such desire! Such yearning!"

He rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, "Love songs. Who needs them?"

She gasped a little at his remark and absently found that she was leaning against him. Her leg was pressed up against his leg as she stood between his knees. Her weight was resting upon him. She wasn't aware of it at first, it was so natural to fall against him. He noticed immediately. He felt the warmth of her skin through the material of his trousers and the thin cotton of her dress. He looked her over as she spoke, she wore a light blue apron dress that had white flowers scattered about it. Her hair was in a loose braid, tendrils of wavy strands poked out in all directions. He noticed her darkened eyelashes, a spattering of freckles on her chest, the dip of her collar bone, the small holes in the lobes of her ears that bore no earrings. 

She pressed her hand, the one holding the scissors, to her chest, pressing her weight against him more, "Those songs are not just  _ love  _ songs. They make me feel so much in here," she tapped on her chest, "that sometimes it hurts. I stopped listening to them for some time, I'm glad I've started back again." 

Severus had forgotten that he was making an argument for The Rolling Stones. "Why did you stop listening to them?"

"After my divorce, he used to sing me Beatles songs, when we first met. It was a bitter ending, and I had to separate myself from things that reminded me of him. That was a long time ago, though. I've learned to let myself love John, Paul, George, and Ringo again. Silly songs and all."

She was still resting against him. She knew she was now, and the contact was so comfortable that she couldn't bring herself to move, nor did she want to. Severus let one of his hands fall on his thigh and found that his fingers grazed against the side of her leg absently.

"I didn't realize you were married before. Did you not know before it began that it would end? Isn’t that how fortune telling works?” He teased.

She pulled away and glared at him, “You know that’s not how it works. And, do remember, I’m holding scissors. Watch your tongue. But, yes I was married before. I was very young, eighteen. I was very foolish and was easily cajoled and manipulated. I woke up to it all rather quickly though. Thank Merlin."

"Only one marriage? Has there not been anyone else?”

She shook her head, "No. The whole prophesying to Dumbledore and being placed at Hogwarts under his thumb sort of put a damper on all that. Plus, the rule was that I pretended to be a fraud, to be rubbish at everything I did to protect everything I  _ did. _ You know how that goes better than I do, Severus. You know how lonely it is." 

She felt his fingers moving gently against her leg and she almost melted at the touch. 

He nodded in agreement and understanding; he understood all too well how lonely it was. 

She let out a sigh. Then in a moment that shocked them both, she cupped his face in her hands, lightly moving it from side to side to observe her handiwork. She nodded in approval. "Okay. I'm exhausted now. I need to lie down and, ideally, nap. Will you take the bread out of the oven in five minutes? And, do try to not eat it all before I wake up."

“I can’t promise I won’t eat it all. You’re making me gain loads of weight, woman.” 

  
“Good!” She replied and left him alone in the kitchen.

He smiled to himself and ran his fingers through his, now, much shorter hair. 


	5. Chapter 5

_ "All of last year's blooms have gone and died. Time doesn't give a reason. Well, hey baby, do you ask yourself sometimes what you need to be forgiven? Everything that you've ever done wrong is the reason that I'm driven straight to you." - Counting Crows, "High Life"  _

Severus spent a lot of time thinking and fiddling, specifically, he had been thinking about the fact that she seemed to feel a lot better just being around magic. Not a magical person, but around things that were reacting directly to magic. He began to wonder what this meant, what changes he could make to her treatments. He began to think about his own treatments and his own life. He knew, at some point, the venom in his blood would eventually begin moving again. He could feel it sometimes, slowly seeping beneath the surface. He’d get a sharp pang of pain in his arm or his foot—sometimes it was so severe it’d take his breath away; it was easy for him to forget about Nagini’s venom until pain occurred. Other than that, he had no idea it was lurking in his body. He’d never mentioned this to Sybill; he’d never mentioned it to anyone. The healer who helped him knew, but other than that, he saw no point in burdening anyone with the notion that he was going to, at some point, die unexpectedly, and, after all, most people die rather unexpectedly. 

Severus had spent most of the day in his workspace; he was actively avoiding Sybill. The current round of treatment he’d given her not only didn’t work but it had made her feel worse, she was snippy and kept having emotional outbursts, not that he blamed her, but he did want to try and prevent said outbursts and decided to keep to himself. 

Neither of them had mentioned or discussed the act of intimacy they shared after his haircut, the way she’d pressed into him so casually as if she was leaning up against someone she’d loved for years. He sometimes felt as if he could still feel the warmth of her skin against his leg, the feel of the cotton of her dress against his finger. He felt such a sense of yearning inside him, he used to think it was just a general sense of yearning, a generic need for companionship and tenderness, but now he recognized it as something more, a feeling that categorically fit in Sybill. He yearned for her.

***

Sybill stood in her bathroom and stared at her reflection. She was irritable and, as always, tired, she was also hot and sticky. Her body felt like a swamp. Her hair had always been such an important part of her and her identity: It was a dirty-blonde with a mix of light-blonde highlights and, now, several very prominent streaks of a very pretty silver. It was thick and it wasn’t curly in that it fell in soft ringlets, but it was wavy and it, more often than not, messy, even if she fixed it. She usually wore it down, but after falling ill she tended to pile it on top of her head or braid it to try and keep herself cooler.

Today had been a day, so to speak. Her body ached desperately, she felt like every inch of her had just gone through days of very rigorous workouts. She was incapable of getting comfortable. Now, as the sun began to set she stood in her bathroom, scissors in one hand and her hair braided in another. She took a deep breath and before she could change her mind she snipped the braid off. Running her fingers through the remnants of her hair, she shook it out. Her hair was now sitting about an inch or so above her shoulder. She snipped and trim and shaped. After some time she stood back from the mirror, pleased with what she saw. Grabbing two bobby pins from a jar she pinned a bit of her hair back examining her reflection. She felt elated at the change. She was still very tired and still very achy, but, Merlin, she felt lighter than she had in ages, literally and figuratively. She could feel the air against the back of her neck without the weight of her hair on top of her head. She smiled at her reflection. Swept up the hair she’d cut. Smoothed out the skirt of her dress and walked out of the bathroom to find Severus.

He was leaning over a workbench when he heard her. “Well, what do you think? Better? Worse? About the same?” Her voice sounded airy and a bit younger, like she was overwhelmed with a sense of giddiness. Glancing up at her, he couldn’t help but smile. He saw the slope of her shoulders, delicate and soft, he saw her prominent collar bones, the lovely length of her neck, and, with hair tucked behind her ear, he saw the soft lobes with a small gemstone in the bottom hole. 

“You're not saying anything. It must be rubbish. Oh well.” She turned to leave but stopped when he began to speak.

“Merlin, no, woman. Don’t be so sensitive. I was admiring it. You look...you look stunning.”

She smiled softly at him and nodded. “It feels much better. I was so hot and irritated. I’m sorry I was in a right state today.”

He shrugged, “It’s fine. You’re ill. My treatment made it worse, you have every right to be … moody with me.” 

A small laugh escaped her lips, “I’m not moody with you.”

  
He raised an eyebrow, “Okay. Fine. I was. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t your fault. I know you’re trying.”

He shuffled his feet where he was sitting and glanced down at the floor, “It is my fault. You and I both know that. You’re too kind to bring it up. I was a shit person. I am still a shit person sometimes, but I was then. Rotten. Horrid. I should have assisted you. I shouldn’t have let you go at it alone. I did such terrible things back then.”

She walked over to him, standing in front of him, he looked up at her. He wondered why he kept being in positions where he was looking up at her, admiring her, almost worshipping her. 

“It doesn't matter now, Severus. It’s all gone out in the wash. You’re here. You’re trying. That’s all I care about now.” She reached out and ran her fingers lightly down his arm, trailing the faded but still very present Dark Mark. 

“Will you do me a favour?”

He nodded.

“Will you lie down with me? I’m tired. My body is so sore. And…” she paused, unsure of how to proceed, “and, well, I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to sleep alone. I lie awake and think about you on the couch so very often, and I think that it would be quite nice to have you with me. To have another soul in the room.”

***

The warmth of the day had spread into the night, and she had opened up the windows of her bedroom. With them open, they could hear the faint rush of the sea and smell the salted water. Sybill found that sleep was evading her as it so often did. At some point in the silence, Severus reached out and ran his fingers along the back of her hand, without thought, she flipped her hand over and he laced his fingers between hers. They stayed like that for a long time. Both hoping that, at some point, sleep captured them. 

She was certain that at some point she dozed off of, but she couldn’t be sure. It was all such a haze of sleeping and waking and sleeping and waking. She’d found she'd rolled onto her side, and Severus had, too—now they were facing one another. She examined him for a long time. The haircut she'd given him really exposed the complexities of his face: The lines on his brow, the severe steepness of his nose, the strong lines of his jaw with black and grey stubble covering. Everything about his face was striking and sharp. Everything but his mouth. While his lips were not plump like hers or large, his mouth was wide and his lips looked soft. 

She felt the overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss him. It would take absolutely nothing at all. She'd just have to lean forward and meet his lips with her. That was it. It was as simple as that, wasn't it?

She supposed she had stared at him so long that it willed him awake. He slowly opened his eyes and she whispered, "I'm sorry. I have a hard time sleeping." 

He shook his head slightly, "Thassokay." His voice was bleary with sleep. "You ok?"

She nodded, "May I admit something?"

"Of course."

"I don't care if I get my magic back."

He suddenly felt very awake at this comment. "Come again?"

"I just want to live. I don't care if I can ever do magic again. I don't care if I can never look into a crystal ball and see the future. I just...I just want to be alive. That's all. I don't care about magic. Does that make sense? Do you know what I mean?”

He did. 


	6. Chapter 6

_ "Ain't it good to be alive? Angie, Angie. They can't say we never tried." - The Rolling Stones, "Angie"  _

  
  


One of the things Severus enjoyed the most about staying at her home was all the Muggle things she had. Severus had, being a half-blood, a slight affinity for some Muggle things—particularly records. Earlier in the week he had apparated to his home and brought a number of things back with him, some of those things being records. 

He knew he had made headway with her treatment; he hadn’t shared this with her yet, as to not get her hopes up, but he was certain things were about to take an upswing. There conversation the previous evening had changed things for him. He now could focus on how to restore her health, not her magic. He felt light with joy, and he wanted to celebrate.

He popped the top on a beer for himself and one of her. She was sitting on the couch in the living room; her eyes shut, she was tired, he knew. He nudged her shoulder and handed her the beer. She silently took it. Walking to the other side of the room, he said, “I brought a few records from my house. Do you mind if I play them?” 

Sybill straightened up a bit on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her. Taking a sip of the beer, she shook her head ‘no’. She was taken aback by his mood. He’d just let a small smile play on his lips as he turned to put on a record. She recognized The Rolling Stones immediately and she groaned, “You’re an arse, Severus Snape.” 

He turned around and looked shocked, “I am, usually, yes, but I’m not trying to be right now. You didn’t say you disliked them, Sybill. You just said they weren’t as good as The Beatles. You’re entitled to your wrong opinion. This is a great record though.”

She shrugged, smiling a little, and taking another sip of her beer. The pair sat in silence as they listened to the first side of the album. The needle clicked and clicked and clicked. Severus got up and moved the needle just so, starting the last song, “Angie” over again.

He stood in front of her and held out his hand. “Dance with me.” 

Sybill laughed. This was the most absurd thing to happen. “No. Did you end up taking my treatment? Are you high from it? What’s wrong with you? You’re Severus Snape. You don’t dance. I don’t dance.”

His shoulders rolled with laugher, “I dance. I have danced. I danced at the Yule ball. I tried to get you to dance then.”

“No, you didn’t!” Her response was loaded with shock. The audacity of him to say such a thing.

“I didn’t outright. I did ask Minerva to dance, and I wanted to ask you. Every time I got near you, you seemed to disappear.”

“I don’t remember you trying to get near me, but I do remember actively avoiding a handful of seventh-year boys who had been daring one another to ask me to dance. I kept rejecting them.”

“Well, if I had gotten the chance, I wanted to ask you.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Sit down. I’m not dancing. I’m too tired.” 

He let out a sigh and sank back into the couch with her. “Fine.” 

She glanced over at him, his face red with disappointment. She may have lost her magic, but her keen perception of people was still intact. With a sigh of her own, she got up and walked over to the record player. She set the needle back to the beginning of the song and stepped over to him. She stood between his legs and grabbed his hand which was resting on his thigh. “Oh, alright. I’ll dance with you.”

A soft smile spread across his face as she pulled him up from the sofa.

He took her into his arms gently but firmly. His hand in hers; his arm tucked around her waist. They were closer than they’d ever been. Her breasts were pushed up against his chest, he could feel the warmth of her body through the thin material of his t-shirt and her nightgown. Since her treatments had begun, they’d become extremely physically comfortable with each other, but not in such an intimate way. Sybill rested her head against his chest, he bent his head down and let his nose rest in the pile of waves on the top of her head. She smelled so good to him. He felt his heart ache at her scent in a way that felt good and terrible. Finally, she lifted her head up and looked up at him. “You’re very comfortable. I should ask you to start sleeping with me, so I can just use your body as a pillow.”

Smiling down at her and laughed a little. Again she spoke, “Thank you for working so hard at this and for me. Even if my body refuses to coop—” 

He shook his head “no” and she stopped speaking. He’d told her over and over how she couldn’t keep up the negativity, that she had to believe things would work. 

She gave him a half-hearted smile, and the smile was so heartbreakingly beautiful that he bent down and kissed her forehead. As his face pulled away from her, she looked up at him again, their faces extremely close. In a soft whisper, he asked, “May I kiss you?”

She nodded wordlessly, and he dipped down, gently pressed his lips to hers. She heard the needle of the record player clicking over and over as he kissed her. It was tender—just the warmth of their lips. 

Severus had kissed lots of women, the only one that ever meant anything to him was Lily, but they were so young when they shared their first kiss that it was hardly anything other than nervous dry lips crashing together. The other women were all obligatory—the ways he had to perform to please Voldemort. He’d never felt anything other than his biological response before. Now, he didn’t even know if he had an erection; all he could think about was how his heart was pounding out of his chest, how his hands were gripping onto her waist as if he was scared she’d slip away at any second, how the taste of her lips and the scent of her skin was taking him over: She was heady, and he welcomed it—more grateful for this moment than anything in his entire life. 

He felt her hands slip up behind his neck, pulling him in closer. She felt as if she needed to pull him as close as she could. Their lips parted and her face was pressed into his neck. She was hugging him. Severus began to wonder if this was the first hug he had received as a grown man. He believed that it was. She kissed his neck sweetly and pulled away from him to examine his face. Her hands cupping his jaw. 

“Why’d you do that? Why'd you kiss me?"

He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just told her the truth. “Because I needed to kiss you. Every part of me needed to kiss you.” 


	7. Chapter 7

_ "Tomorrow is much too late. I need you now, be my light" - Saves the Day, "Tomorrow Too Late" _

She curled around his back as she did every night now. Her face was buried between his shoulder blades; her left hand rested upon his belly. He loved to feel her pressed into him like this. It felt so good to be next to her. He tried so hard to not think of her in a desirable manner. Yes, they'd kissed, but Severus knew she was still sick, healing but sick. He didn't want to push her body to any limits, and he certainly didn't want to push her emotionally in any direction she wasn't ready to go.

He was dozing off to sleep when he felt her fingers dancing at his hip bone—they grazed against him softly and simply. Almost unawares. But, she was very awake and very aware of what she was doing. She tucked her face between his shoulder blades and breathed him in. He smelled warm like tobacco and cedar, and his scent caused a deep pang of want to settle in her abdomen. She took a risk and let her hand travel below his navel and onto his hip bone, then she let her fingers dance towards his pubic bone. She grazed him with her fingers and found that her soft strokes on his skin had made him hard. The tips of her fingers skimmed across his erection, and she heard him take in a sharp breath as his hips bucked up towards her hand with wanting. She pressed her body closer to him, pushing up and pressing her lips against the skin on the nape of his neck. She continued to toy with his cock when the word, "Please" escaped his lips. He felt embarrassed at his begging; he felt immature and teenaged at how desperately he wanted to feel her hand wrap around him.

Severus was the master of self-control and despite the times he'd seen Sybill half-naked, despite the times they'd kissed, he'd never given in to his erections. Not once had he touched himself since he'd begun staying with her. If he awoke hard, he would distract his mind and lose it promptly. Now, though, now that she was coaxing him into an erection, he was desperate and hungry for her touch. 

He felt her tongue warm and wet against his neck and his ear lobe; he felt her nipples hard, pressed against his back. Finally, she wrapped her hand around his cock and tugged gently. He grunted involuntarily, and he, again, felt silly at his eagerness. 

She whispered into his ear, "I've wanted to touch you for so long." She continued to stroke him, feeling his thick cock beneath his pyjama pants. She dipped her hand below his waistband, and if he had been a younger and less controlled man he would have come immediately at her touch. Her soft and strong hand was delightful. She felt his smooth skin and grasped around him tightly. Again, she whispered, "Do you like me touching you?"

Sybill felt so out of control with everything else, that all she wanted was to be in this moment and take it for herself. She was tired, yes, but she also had wants and desires. Pressing up against him each night left her aroused and frustrated. She wanted him, and, if he was willing, which he was, she was going to take him. 

His baritone voice assured any nerves she had, "Sybill, there's nothing more in the world I want than for you to be touching me and for you to let me touch you. Let me touch you. Let me taste you."

He rolled towards her and kissed her. She kissed him back. His tongue running against hers and then moving down her neck. He licked and sucked at her skin. She lost herself in the feel of his mouth against her and suddenly he was between her thighs, pushing up her cotton slip. 

Sybill repositioned herself so she was sitting up; propped up by pillows and her back against the headboard. She wanted to watch him as he pleased her—she wanted to tug at his hair; she wanted to push his face against her and hold him there as she came into his mouth. 

He wrapped his hands around her legs and bent down between her. He slowly licked the inside of her thighs before gently licking her clit. Immediately, she groaned. The warmth of his tongue felt so good, so real. It made her feel alive and well and on fire. 

She keened as he licked her gently and slipped his fingers inside her. It'd been so long since she'd been intimate with someone that she had forgotten how good it was to be touched.

It took very little time for Severus to bring her to climax. She gripped his hair as she pushed her hips upward, pressing him closer into her. 

He kissed her thighs and pushed her slip further up, kissing her hip bones, her stomach, and up to her breasts. He toyed with her clit gently, as he kissed and sucked on her nipples. Kissing her neck he whispered, "Are you ok? How do you feel?"

In the dark she rolled her eyes at him, "I'm fine! I feel better than I have in years. Do shut up though. Please slide that thick cock of yours in me now or  _ you _ won't be fine."

He chuckled and nodded against her skin, kissing her lips once more. She slid down underneath him and widened her legs for him. He fit between her thighs comfortably, and slowly pushed himself inside of her. 

"Merlin," she breathed. It  _ had  _ been a long time; the weight of him upon her, the way he filled her up, right to the brim. She felt, again, as if she was going to immediately unravel beneath him. But, he was tender and slow as he rocked inside of her, all too aware that she hadn't fully made her recovery yet. He nipped at her neck lightly, his head finding its home in the crook of her neck as he moved inside her. 

She explored his back and arms, and she hooked one of her legs around his lower back, pushing him deeper into her.

When she came again he was quick to follow, as he'd been eager to come within minutes of her touching him. 

He moved off of her and next to her. Before she had a moment to speak he began, "Are you ok?"

"Come on! Don't ruin it for me. Yes. I'm fine." 

He grabbed her wrist and felt her pulse, "Your heart rate is very high."

"Yeah. Well, being fucked for the first time in years will do that to you. And coming, too! Well done, Severus."

He snorted out of his nose and pulled the covers up. "Perhaps, we shouldn't have done that. We need to be more careful with you and your health."

She sat up in the bed, "You are quite the romantic, darling. Oh! Let me eat your cunt and then fuck you and then say I shouldn't have done it!"

He pressed his face into the pillow and laughed, "Okay! I suppose you  _ are  _ feeling like yourself again." He paused, "I didn't mean to offend you. I simply  _ am  _ worried about you."

"I know. It's okay." She patted his thigh beneath the sheet. Not long after sleep captured them both.

When morning came, he slipped behind her wrapping his arms around her and kissing her lightly on the neck. She pushed the hand resting on her belly down to her centre. He grinned against her back and ran his hand along her hip and arse, pressing his hand between her thighs from behind and slipping his fingers into her. She rolled onto her belly and jerked her hips up against his hand, groaning as he fingered her. 

Against the pillow, she demanded, "Fuck me, please." And he happily propped himself up on his knees behind her and thrust his cock into her. Her words and groans encouraged him to move harder and faster than he had hours before. He came quicker than he'd liked and when he slipped out of her, he bent down behind her and sucked on her clit and licked her cunt until she came for him. 

For a while, they laid there together, the morning light leaking into the early afternoon. They dozed in and out of sleep. Finally, she turned towards him. "Let's get out of this house and go get brunch. You do know how to behave around Muggles in public, right?"

He chuckled and nodded, "Indeed, I do."

Thus began the beginning of the happiest times of Severus' life. 


	8. Chapter 8

_ "Poor boy, when you're dead. You don't take nothing with you, but your soul - think!" - The Beatles, "The Ballad of John and Yoko" _

The morning light reflected off the gold and silver bracelets she had taken to wearing again. Severus eyed her as she slept, the sheets had been kicked half-off her body. She'd begun to gain some weight back since the treatment began working, and he admired the fullness of her arse and thighs. He scootched his body closer to hers and kissed her shoulder tenderly. He hadn't meant to wake her, but there were times, he found, that he couldn't stop himself from reaching out for her—to rest a hand on her hip or thigh or arm, to press his lips to her shoulder or neck or hand. Sometimes, in these moments, he wondered if Nagini's venom had already killed him; if he was somehow being rewarded in the sweetest afterlife imaginable. 

As her health began to stabilize, their relationship shifted. The shift began slowly, now that Severus looked back on it. There were all these small moments that led up to it and then, suddenly, there they were. He loved her. He hadn’t told her this, but he knew she knew. It was in the way she kissed his cheek in the mornings when she got up, the way she’d reach for his hand on the couch as they read, the way she found him with her hands and mouth in the middle of the night. Everything she did for him, every ounce of affection and care pulled him deeper into her. 

She’d begun wanting to go do things together now that she felt good and strong and healthy. They went to the market together; she found new recipes—indulging his sweet tooth with lemon meltaways, raspberry shortbread, brown butter chocolate biscuits. 

One day she even managed to get him down to the beach, he watched as she stood with her feet in the water, looking out at the sea, and sadness overcame him. He couldn’t help but consider how much life he had lost to Voldemort; how much of his love he had thrown away. Here he stood, his feet in the sand, irritated at the way it felt between his toes, but utterly delighted to watch her standing there in the water healthy and full of life. 

She insisted he lay on the shoreline with her. He didn’t want to. He hated the idea of the sand and the sticky water, but he did so. As the water rushed against them and up into his hair, filling his ears slightly, she squeezed his hand. He glanced over at her and she smiled. 

She opened her mouth, as if to speak and then shut it again. Again, she squeezed his hand and turned her head back up towards the sky. A few moments later she sat up, sand stuck to her back, her hair wet. Looking back at him over her shoulder she began, “There’s something I want to tell you.” He, too, sat up and waited for her to continue. 

She licked her lips, he imagined they tasted salty, “Severus, I, well, I love you. And I’ve loved you for some time. I think I fell in love with you the day we sat at the kitchen table and played Scrabble. That was right after one of the failed attempts at treatments, the worst one, I think. I felt so awful, but I was bored and antsy, and I could so tell you didn’t want to play that silly Muggle game, but you did anyway. And, then you helped me to bed because it hurt to walk, and I knew then I loved you. Part of me hoped then I would stay sick forever so that I could keep you around to always be with me and take care of me. I didn’t think you would actually return my feelings. I’ve always been a silly woman when it comes to emotions. And, now, here we are, and I want you to know. I don’t know what I mean to you. I don’t know what all this is. I know you’ll be headed back to London soon, as you’ve done it! You’ve healed me. So, I just wanted you to know.”

Severus felt overwhelmed and awestruck by her words. He bent over and pressed his lips to her wet, salty shoulder. “I love you, as well.” 

“Do you now?” 

He chuckled a bit, ‘Yes. Is it not obvious?” 

She shrugged, “I don’t trust my judgement on these things. Sometimes, yes, I think you must. Other times, well, I think you may just be trying to atone.”

He was atoning, but not in the way she thought. “No, Sybill. I love you very much. Embarrassingly so. Undeservedly so.”

A smile played at her lips and she leaned up to meet his. 

After that they’d headed back to her home,  _ their _ home. They barely got into the door before she was stripping off her clothes. She took him on the couch, straddling him. 

They spent many days like this afterwards. He'd wake before her and have her tea ready. They would lie in bed and read and cuddle and touch. They fucked like teenagers during the day and made love in the darkness of night. Severus felt like a much younger man, getting an erection when he'd see her legs in the bathtub or when she would bend over to pull something out of the oven.

Sybill seemed to him to be perfectly content without magic and Severus while using it occasionally, tended to use his magic less and less, not intentionally, it just happened to happen that way.

Not long after pressing his lips to her shoulder, one morning, she rolled over towards him. Lying on her side she stretched her left arm up, grabbing the headboard, and pointed her toes down, stretching out her legs. She stretches like this every morning without fail. She was not a creature of habit, in most ways, she moved about her day as her mind and her body saw fit. But, he'd noticed that there were small things that ran like clockwork, this stretching being one of them.

She reached out for him, her eyes still shut. He moved towards her, and she nuzzled her face in his chest. He whispered, "Good morning" into her mass of wild hair. He heard a muffled response against his chest, and he chucked a little: She was not a morning person. It didn't take long before she'd fallen back asleep, cocooned in him almost. He surprisingly dozed off as well, and when he next woke, she woke, too, and he saw that the clock read 10:30 am. 

She stretched, again, and smiled at him. "Now, that's what I call a proper rest."

"You need the same amount of sleep as an infant. Has this always been the case or is it something to do with your recovery?" His already deep voice was a bit creaky with sleep as he spoke. 

"Hmmm. Yes. Before I got better, I slept a lot less, so I'm making up for it now, as well." She pushed up and kissed him sweetly on the lips and smiled. 

"So," she asked. "What are we going to do today?"

Severus pulled back from her a bit, contemplating whatever options he had in his head. "I have an idea. I'm not sure what your opinion on it will be, however." 

She rested her hands against his chest, working her hand into his robe and feeling his chest hair beneath her fingertips. "What is this idea of yours?"

He looked at her lovingly and his eyes shined with a deep sense of longing. He cupped her cheek in his hand, "Will you marry me?" 

Her eyes grew wide, "What?" She said with a soft giggle. 

"I love you. I want to be yours completely. I want to roll over and see your beautiful face and think,  _ That's my wife _ . I never thought I'd have this life. I never even entertained the thought, and here I am. Asking you to have me. Giving you my soul." 

Sybill leaned into him with a smile and nodded "Yes. I'll marry you. I'll marry you today if you'd like." 

***

It was a calm and small affair. Neither of them wanted the bells or the whistles. They spent the weekend in a small bed and breakfast in France and returned home not long after. They gorged on wine and cheese and chocolate croissants, and there were so many instances where she couldn't believe her life. She couldn't believe that she'd almost died, gave up magic, and then fell in love with the man who cured her, a man she never thought she'd ever see after the war. Severus was still quiet, but he listened to her; he hung on her every word. She found that he satisfied every part of her being. Even without magic, even without what had made her  _ her  _ she felt more whole than ever before. 

Their lives were simple; Severus apparated to London for work, and Sybill began to pick up and learn various Muggle hobbies. It took them one weekend to clear our Severus' previous home and to move all of his things in it, and that was that. 

Their life was, well, blissful. 


	9. Chapter 9

_ "Today a thousand years of strained affection and prayer out beyond ideas of right and wrong is a field. Will I meet you there?" — Mewithoutyou, "Julia (Or, 'Holy to the Lord' on the Bells of Horses)" _

It happened quite suddenly, as most unexpected deaths do. 

It was a normal Thursday. Severus got up, made a cup of tea, enjoyed a slice of warm cranberry bread Sybill had made, got dressed, and kissed his wife goodbye on the cheek as she slept. Even after all this time, after over a year of recovery, Sybill still loved to sleep-in. She groggily mumbled something of a goodbye, and he left their house feeling good, happy, fulfilled.

The rest of his day was normal, too. He had orders to fill, patients to meet with, restocking to be done, and the like. He'd made it to just past lunch when it happened; he collapsed in his office. One of the workers heard the noise and came in to check on him. They found him lying on the floor. He appeared to be unconscious, but he wasn't; he'd died instantly, quickly, painlessly. The venom from Nagini had moved so quickly, once it was finally able to break through the magic in Severus' blood, it sped, with vengeance, right to his heart. There were no warning signs. No indication it was about to happen it just did. 

Severus had always known that at some point the magic in place to stop the venom would stop working. There was no way for him to tell when or why it would stop working, and so he didn't see the point in worrying about it or thinking about it. Occasionally, when he has been working on Sybill's treatment he'd thought about it—specifically the fact that he was going to die from the venom, but he had decided to not let it impact his day-to-day life. 

He had never been loved before. He had loved, yes. He was sure that people had cared about him in some capacity; Draco thought of him as a father figure; Dumbledore had occasionally seemed to care; Lily cared—but had he ever been loved? No. Not until Sybill. 

He knew that he should have told her about the venom, but he also knew that it was pointless to do so. She would worry; she would want to try and try and try to find a cure. He knew he found the best remedy there was, even if it was temporary. Here was where Severus knew he was being selfish; he wanted to enjoy whatever time he had left with her. He wanted to fully enjoy it, and they had. He never wanted her to know that there was another cloud of doubt over them; that at any second he could die. That was no way to live, and, Merlin, he wanted to know how it felt to love and be loved in return so fully so wholly so completely.

If someone had asked Severus that day if he was happy if he felt loved, he would say he was and he had and he did. Would he have wanted to spend the next one hundred years with Sybill Trelawney? Yes, he would have. But, he was a man who did not take things for granted, he knew that he was fortunate to have been given the love that he was.

***

She awoke to the sounds of tapping at her bedroom window. There was an owl she recognised as one of St Mungo’s at her window with a letter. 

What it held was confusion, devastation, disbelief. It was going to take her four hours to get to St Mungo’s, and this was the first time in a long time that she was furious at her lack of magic. 

When she arrived at St Mungo’s they had long determined Severus to be dead; absolutely nothing was to be done for him. He died instantly. He was dead before he hit the floor. It did take the healers some time to determine what exactly had caused him to die. It wasn’t like a heart attack; it was quicker, less painful, less obvious. They explained to her that Severus died because of Nagini’s venom—when Nagini attacked him, his blood was tainted with her venom, and, despite his efforts, he was unable to get rid of the venom. What Severus had done alongside his partner at his shop, his former healer, was to build a sort of wall around his heart which stopped the movement the venom reached it. Over time, however, the venom slowly, but surely, broke it down, which is what killed him instantly. 

Sybill tried to not seem so shocked at this news. The healer seemed to assume that she knew about his health issues, and so she pretended to do so. She felt embarrassed by the fact that she didn’t know and tried to conceal her embarrassment. 

Even though it was late, she took the train back home. She did not cry on the way there or on the ride back; she maintained a perfectly stoic nature. When she got home, when she walked into what had become so obviously their home, she broke down. She didn’t make it past the entryway. She slid down the wall and began to sob. Her chest heaved with sadness. She finally got up just to be sick in the toilet— she vomited until there was nothing left in her but bile and she continued then to vomit up that. There hadn’t been a time when she was dying when she was so sick, that’d she’d felt as helpless and devastated as she did now. Her husband was dead. Severus Snape was dead. He was not coming back. He was not coming home. 

***

There was a funeral. It was a funeral. Sybill wasn’t sure what else to think about it. Draco Malfoy had come and helped get it all in order; she was very grateful for him, more so than she ever thought possible. He invited her over for dinner at his home several times, and each time she declined. Harry Potter had been very thoughtful as well; he came to visit her one day, he informed her that he and Ginny were to have their second baby—a boy, and they intended to name him after Severus. 

The only days she managed to get out of bed were the days when someone forced their presence upon her, she was never sure if she was resentful or grateful of the visits from Draco or Harry or Pomona or whomever. 

It took several weeks for her to get out of bed on her own, without the encouragement of someone else. After a month or so, the visitors slowed, people began to resume their lives as normal, as their lives had not been impacted as so severely by his death. 

Finally, Sybill got up. She went into her kitchen. She made herself tea. She tried to sort through her feelings, she couldn’t help but be angry with him for never telling her about his illness, about the venom, but she also wasn’t sure what the point of her anger was. But, she knew that anger was much easier to deal with than sorrow.

Sybill took her cup of tea and found herself in Severus’ workshop. She sat at his desk and just stared at it for what felt like an hour. Being in here, made her feel instantly closer to him, and she let her fingers trail over the binds of his many journals, the feathering of his quills, the coolness of the glass vials that contained potions and herbs and salts and the like. Suddenly, she began opening up drawers, looking for nothing but looking for something. Near the bottom, she’d found a notebook labelled, “Sybill Trelawney - Treatment - Magic Depletion”.

The notebook was thick, but she sat at his desk and read each page, pouring over it as if it were the greatest work of literature to ever be written. 

She discovered in this, what had truly cured her: Severus had used his own magic.


	10. Chapter 10

_ “I tell this story every time. Real love don't follow a straight line. It breaks your neck, it builds you a delicate shrine” - Waxahatchee, “Ruby Falls” _

  
  
  


What she learned was this: When she told him, in the middle of the night, that she didn’t care about getting her magic back, Severus realized that her body needed an infusion of magic. The issue with this, of course, was that taking magic from another witch or wizard meant severely damaging their own magic in the process. Severus thus began to drain his own magic, to ensure that she lived. She learned that he knew he was running a risk; he could take years off of his own life in doing this, it could impact his own treatments, the venom from Nagini could have tainted his magic—in his journal, he expressed these concerns, but also made it evident that it was worth the risk; he wanted nothing more than to give Sybill her life back, even if it meant sacrificing his own magic and, perhaps, his own life. He had believed that he owed it to her, and he loved her, and he wanted her to be happy and healthy more than he’d wanted anything else before.

There were many things she believed in. Many of those things were odd and obscure, things that 

were much harder for others to put stock in. The biggest was this: We live and exist in just one of many timelines, in one of many planes of existence. There are thousands of universes and lives that each of us live, simultaneously, to the one we are consciously in. Some are very similar to what we’re living now, some are very different. 

Sybill grieved. She grieved for a long time, for years upon years after Severus died. But, there were days, little moments, small instances, where she could have sworn she saw him walk through their garden, where she could almost smell him sitting at the kitchen table, where she could hear his low voice as she soaked in her bathtub: These instances were the ones she took solace in, as she knew that it wasn’t just her imagination, it wasn’t his ghost, but it was his soul, his essence bleeding over from another timeline into hers. She knew that somewhere, on some other plane of existence, the two of them shared space together. The marrow of their bones, the very core of their beings intertwined forever.

  
  
  



End file.
